Page 26 of Crazy Spooky Love

Marina has settled on her choice of channel, and Artie looks sideways at her, surprised.

“You like snooker?”

“So what if I do?”

Even though it’s only Artie, she’s still straight on the defensive; snooker isn’t something many twentysomething women like to watch.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “What do you think of O’Sullivan’s chances this year?”

A tiny smile brushes Marina’s mouth, and her shoulders relax from around her ears. “Fair to medium; he’s having a decent season. You?”

“Is this billiards?” Douglas says, sitting forward on the edge of his chair to studyit.

“Similar,” I say. “Marina, Artie? Could you please explain the basics of snooker for Douglas? He’s just here.

” I indicate the seat and try to imagine how it is for them not to be able to see him.

It must be like green-screen acting to an empty room, but to give them their due they take my request at face value and start going over the rules, correcting each other every now and then.

Leaving them settled, I turn to Isaac. “Can we sit down for a few minutes and run through your list?”

He leads me away from the TV to the sofas grouped around the fireplace at the other end of the room. I dig out his list as I sit down and smooth it on my knee.

“So, this is quite long,” I say, turning it over. As I suspected, his cobweb writing continues on the flipside of the paper.

I run my finger down the list, checking that I understand each one before moving on to the next. Some of them are quite self-explanatory; “under the cold slab in the pantry, behind the water boiler in the upstairs landing cupboard.”

Then there’s things like “Make a thorough search of the bedroom Lloyd hangs out in, the room he shared with his wife, Maud, when he was alive.” I agree, but it’s going to be tricky to get in there with Lloyd breathing down my neck. Or not breathing down my neck, but you know what I mean.

“Your parents’ bedroom?” I say, moving down the list. “Show me which one it is?” I glance toward the others grouped around the TV and call “Just going upstairs for five. Hang out here and keep Douglas company.”

Artie lifts his hand and waves in acknowledgment whilst Marina points out something on the screen, clearly enjoying explaining the finer points to Douglas regardless of the fact that she can’t see him and he can’t answer her back. Thinking about it, that’s probably a good thing for both of them.

I follow Isaac as he heads into the hallway, up the stairs, and along the shady first-floor corridor to a closed door at the end.

“I’ll wait for you to open it rather than just walk through it,” he says, stepping aside.

“Cheap tricks are best avoided unless you’re dealing with a rookie,” I agree, hiding my smile as I turn the brass doorknob and push the heavy door open.

“It’s changed quite a bit since my parents’ day,” he says, even though to my eyes the bedroom seems like a time warp.

It looks as if it was last decorated in the 1970s, retro blond wood wardrobes and furniture with sexy curves and simple lines.

I like it, actually—it has cool, stylish appeal that wouldn’t look out of place in a home-interiors magazine on sale today.

The orange-and-lime wallpaper would make Orla Kiely fans swoon, and I’d like to roll the puffy, satin eiderdown up and take it home for my own bed.

It’s deliciously kitsch, and quite different to the rest of the house.

“Lloyd’s son let his wife, Barbara, redecorate it.

” The distaste in Isaac’s tone is clear.

“Lloyd’s son…so that would be Donovan Scarborough’s father? The guy who recently passed away?”

Isaac nods. “He allowed his wife free rein in here, and this was the result. I’m sure you can appreciate why she was never allowed to decorate the rest of the house.”

Privately, I’m imagining that Barbara might have made a rather fabulous makeover job of it and feel quite sorry for her that she wasn’t given a freer hand. I bet she spent a fair amount of her time up here in this room.

“Okay, so I should ignore all of the recent additions, the wardrobes, the dressing table, etcetera,” I muse. “What’s here that would have been here back in 1910?”

“Nothing.”

I look at him, doubtful. “That’s not a lot to go on.”

Isaac shakes his head. “My dear, if you’re going to be a sleuth, you need to think like a sleuth.”

“I’m not Miss Marple, Isaac. Help a girl out?”

He scans the room. “Look around. Check the walls for signs of any disturbance in the brickwork, hidden compartments, loose floorboards.”

“That’s all very well for you to say.” The violently patterned rug is huge and has been down for longer than I’ve been alive, lifting it will likely make a dust cloud that could killme.

He crosses to the chimney breast. “There was always a live fireplace here when my parents had this room. It’s been bricked up. Tap it, you’ll probably be able to tell.”

I follow him across the room and do as I’m told, and believe it or not I can detect the change in sound as I rap my knuckles lightly on the wall.

“There,” I whisper, in wide-eyed wonder. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he says. “It’s hardly a surprise that these houses were built with fireplaces. We didn’t have fancy radiators back in those days, you know.”

I feel scolded. “I was only saying.”

“You need to knock a hole through and check inside the fireplace.”

I balk at the idea of damaging the property, and even more so at the thought of ripping that amazing wallpaper.

“What do you expect me to do, Isaac, put my fist through? I’ll end up in A it must have had a pretty catastrophic effect.